@floatingak: When you and your disabled teammate hop on comp for the first time and this is the type of stuff that that goes on 😭#rusttok #rustconsole #rust #fyp

FloatingAK
FloatingAK
Open In TikTok:
Region: CA
Friday 09 October 2026 04:36:20 GMT
19697
812
17
336

Music

Download

Comments

robbie.selli
Robbie Selli :
Went full deep on yall😭😭😭😭
2026-10-09 10:52:34
11
sins6968
sins6968 :
Did bro just say good aim 💀
2026-10-09 07:10:36
58
ameliahenry7
Amelia :
Same but mine was fixed
2026-10-10 02:04:22
3
yyc..george
yyc..george :
I love you number one rust player oat
2026-10-09 04:48:10
2
frickinc0mmyy
Frickinc0mmy :
2026-10-09 10:41:45
0
natepsomiadis
big boi nate :
When this shit happens how tf do yall stay in character😂
2026-10-12 08:50:05
0
hasan___38
Hasan👀 :
A Disabled saying his teamate is disabled
2026-10-09 04:43:37
4
frostco7
K★ :
How do yall get aks
2026-10-10 04:01:36
1
ego.onrce
ryker! :
This got to be an act 😭
2026-10-09 09:46:02
2
braden.wallace92
Braden Wallace :
Why you got head bob on
2026-10-09 23:56:26
0
n3rddsz
N3rds- :
@Hallucinal 🕷️
2026-10-09 11:35:04
0
kck.s5
kck.m :
@407dav us
2026-10-09 17:27:47
1
robbie.selli
Robbie Selli :
@✎ ✎ ✎ll spiy ll ✎ ✎ ✎ @12oclock_yozma
2026-10-10 23:44:24
0
lilrozzrozz
Lilrozzrozz :
@watermelonstarburst67
2026-10-11 14:04:54
0
To see more videos from user @floatingak, please go to the Tikwm homepage.

Other Videos

Did you ever climb a hill just to breathe? Just to let the silence punch you in the gut and remind you you’re still alive? Up in the Apuseni, somewhere past the last bark of a sheepfold dog and before the edge of reason, there’s a barn that has given up on impressing anyone. The wood peels like sunburnt skin, its beams bend like tired men. It’s not picturesque. It’s not curated. It just is. But then there’s that swing—still tied to the tree like a secret never told. It hangs there, stubborn, creaking when the wind remembers to push it. A monument to a childhood that maybe wasn’t yours, but you can feel in your teeth. These hills don’t whisper; they accuse. Of forgetting. Of leaving. Of paving over stories with concrete and hashtags. Țara Moților isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a poem. A beautiful, wild, necessary poem. The land breathes like a sleeping beast, and deep beneath it, bones and ice and handprints older than history remind us we weren’t the first to cry here. The Apuseni caves don’t echo—they swallow. Villages cling to ridges like dried blood, and old women still make bread without looking at recipes. Time here doesn’t pass—it ferments. Why do we always seek the polished, the filtered, the easy? When did we start calling ruins ugly and forget they’re just survivors without makeup? That swing, that barn, that hill—they’re not waiting for you. They’re not here to make you feel better. But maybe, just maybe, if you sit on that swing and close your eyes, something buried might stir. Do you still remember what made you laugh as a child? When was the last time you truly missed something you never had? Video by @giani_frentz  [Apuseni Mountains, Țara Moților, Rustic Solitude, Abandoned Barns, Forgotten Childhoods, Carpathian Silence, Romanian Wilderness, Mountain Memories, Traditional Heritage, Ancient Caves, Nature’s Wrath, Weathered Wood, Lonely Swings, Village Remnants, Ice Caves, Spiritual Geography, Stark Beauty, Fermented Time, Rural Emotions, Ancestral Echoes] #romania #travel #apuseni #rawplaces
Did you ever climb a hill just to breathe? Just to let the silence punch you in the gut and remind you you’re still alive? Up in the Apuseni, somewhere past the last bark of a sheepfold dog and before the edge of reason, there’s a barn that has given up on impressing anyone. The wood peels like sunburnt skin, its beams bend like tired men. It’s not picturesque. It’s not curated. It just is. But then there’s that swing—still tied to the tree like a secret never told. It hangs there, stubborn, creaking when the wind remembers to push it. A monument to a childhood that maybe wasn’t yours, but you can feel in your teeth. These hills don’t whisper; they accuse. Of forgetting. Of leaving. Of paving over stories with concrete and hashtags. Țara Moților isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a poem. A beautiful, wild, necessary poem. The land breathes like a sleeping beast, and deep beneath it, bones and ice and handprints older than history remind us we weren’t the first to cry here. The Apuseni caves don’t echo—they swallow. Villages cling to ridges like dried blood, and old women still make bread without looking at recipes. Time here doesn’t pass—it ferments. Why do we always seek the polished, the filtered, the easy? When did we start calling ruins ugly and forget they’re just survivors without makeup? That swing, that barn, that hill—they’re not waiting for you. They’re not here to make you feel better. But maybe, just maybe, if you sit on that swing and close your eyes, something buried might stir. Do you still remember what made you laugh as a child? When was the last time you truly missed something you never had? Video by @giani_frentz [Apuseni Mountains, Țara Moților, Rustic Solitude, Abandoned Barns, Forgotten Childhoods, Carpathian Silence, Romanian Wilderness, Mountain Memories, Traditional Heritage, Ancient Caves, Nature’s Wrath, Weathered Wood, Lonely Swings, Village Remnants, Ice Caves, Spiritual Geography, Stark Beauty, Fermented Time, Rural Emotions, Ancestral Echoes] #romania #travel #apuseni #rawplaces

About